I cry myself to sleep wishing that I will wake up in bed next to the woman I worshiped. Of course that never happens. Why? Because I killed her.
That’s right, I killed my sweetheart. On 31st October, exactly a year ago today.
I came home drunk in my mother’s car. She was taking her little brother trick or treating. I didn’t see her walking across the street. My heart skipped numerous beats as I came to and realised my crime. My mind filled with terror as I stumbled to the floor beside her. Just a body in a heap. Unresponsive. Blood pouring out of her mouth. “What have I done?” I garbled to myself. I got back in my mothers car and called an ambulance. I rapidly sobered up and came to my senses. I needed to go to the hospital with her. I needed to find out if I murdered the love of my life. I later found to my horror that my nightmare was coming true as the doctor dawdled towards me with a horrified look on his face. Tears flowing down my face, I panicked. I ran home and collapsed on our bed staring at her pyjamas on the other side, folded up neatly, as I broke down once again. With my vision turning slowly burry, I closed my eyes as I heard a violent thump at the front door. Panic rushed through my body as I answered. A hot sweat suddenly took over my body. As I slowly peered round the door, I saw, to my horror, the police. My heart sank as I gave up and I admitted to everything. What I didn’t know is that I killed several little children on my journey home. That made me feel ten times worse. I actually murdered little kids, like cows to the slaughter. I nearly shot myself. The words death and row circled my mind all the way to the station until someone finally came to the conclusion that I was to be put to death. Countless terrible feelings raced through me like a rampage of bulls. Still to this day I relive that night over and over again.
And so I was tossed into this disgusting cell to rot away. The worst thing I, I was arranging a proposal for last Christmas.
My family are still mortified and too humiliated to call me their own. They certainly never visit. Her parents would exterminate me if they got a possibility.
I am so isolated here in my own little cell. It’s so cold and lonesome. I have nothing left in my life. I might as well die here and now. I would give anything to begin my life again somewhere else like America or Australia. Start a new life for myself with a job and friends and my own freedom. That would be great. With my woman back with me alive as well. I would kill for that chance. I am so terrified of dying. I don’t want to die, ever. I thought that people were approved a second opportunity. But then again, those children that I murdered didn’t get a second chance at life so why should I? I destroyed their life. I ended their life! No one has the right to do such a thing. I feel like an ant in a jam jar with no escape and fear rushing through me. I have no chance of surviving this dreadful experience. If only I didn’t go out drinking. I would not be here and may be married with the woman I still love so very much. That thought of destroying so many lives. Not only the children that I killed, but all their friends and families that must despise me. Even if I was released from this prison, I would never last out in the human race of today now that everyone knows about the crime I committed. I would be afraid to leave my home and I still would not have any family or friends. So it would turn into some sort of prison anyway. At least it may be a tiny bit better than this hellhole. I despise my life. It is ruined and I am only twenty.
The days sneak closer and closer to the end of my life. I feel like I am being forced, gradually but surely, off the edge of a cliff. I feel petrified of the future. (Or at least what’s left of it)
